


A Parting

by servantofclio



Series: Rory and Simon Trevelyan [5]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-10
Updated: 2017-10-10
Packaged: 2019-01-15 17:19:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12325428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/servantofclio/pseuds/servantofclio
Summary: Missing scene; Dorian and Felix say their farewells before Felix returns home.





	A Parting

**Author's Note:**

> There are twin Trevelyans in this universe, who share the anchor and are both called Heralds of Andraste.

“… and I’m not sure it would have worked at all without the Herald’s mark close at hand, I’ll have to tell him. I’m telling you, Felix, the Breach is fascinating, we’re going to have to re-write a lot of theories about the Fade when all this is done, I think.” 

Dorian becomes aware, as he pauses for breath, that Felix is watching him with tolerant indulgence. This is not an entirely unaccustomed expression, as Dorian does tend to go on when there’s an interesting problem at hand, but still… “What?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” Felix says. “You’re quite right, the Breach is a most interesting magical problem, not to mention a quite devastating hazard.” 

“Well, that went without saying.” Dorian is mildly miffed that Felix felt the need to point this out, as he’d simply assumed they were in agreement on that subject. 

“Of course. And you should certainly stay, to see the problem through.” 

“But?” Dorian presses, as Felix has left a significant pause. 

“Are you sure you aren’t staying a little because of the Herald?” 

“Don’t be absurd,” Dorian scoffs. 

Felix merely raises his eyebrows. To be fair, Felix has seen Dorian make a fool of himself over a handsome face more times than Dorian can count. Felix can probably count them, though, he’s clever with numbers like that, and besides, has the benefit of being less inebriated than Dorian on several of those occasions. 

Trevelyan does have a quite handsome face, though. Fine eyes, and a positively dazzling smile. Pleasantly broad shoulders, Dorian’s always enjoyed shoulders, and nicely muscular in general, and — this line of thought is not exactly going to make Felix lower those eyebrows, is it? 

“There are two Heralds,” Dorian points out belatedly. This tangent does not deflect Felix in the least, to judge from the resulting snort. 

“We both know which one I meant,” Felix says. 

Yes, that was abundantly clear, wasn’t it? Possibly Dorian has been a trifle obvious. Though he doesn't _think_ he mentioned the shoulders, or the eyes, or the general physique in the last few minutes.

Then again, Felix knows Dorian’s tastes better than anyone.

Nevertheless: “I assure you, I’m a changed man,” Dorian says. “I’m quite over all such youthful infatuation nonsense.” 

Felix’s eyebrows twitch again. 

“Besides,” Dorian says, “even if I had some interest in that direction, it’s quite impossible. A leader of a southern religious organization is hardly going to get involved with a dastardly Tevinter mage, especially another man.” He doesn’t let even a hint of melancholy touch his voice. One of his better efforts, really.

Felix frowns anyway. “They don’t judge such things in the south the way they do at home,” he says slowly. “I saw that at the university. You may be right, of course. I only thought— well, perhaps it doesn’t matter.” 

“I’m sure it doesn’t,” Dorian says firmly. Oh, yes, he might have entertained some passing fancies — he might entertain them even yet — but they most emphatically do not matter. He does, in fact, like Trevelyan. Beyond the visual appeal, the man’s wit and dogged determination both have a certain charm. He’s a person who cares deeply about things. Dorian has never seen a person more touchingly devoted to their sibling, for one; just look at how stubbornly Trevelyan scoured Redcliffe’s dungeons for any sign of his twin. 

… his twin, who doesn’t like Dorian, a fact all too plain from the wary glances and general skittishness. That antipathy would make anything but the merest dalliance impossible, even without everything else that makes it impossible, too. 

Dalliance might be pleasant enough, though. 

“I would give a good deal to see you happy, Dorian,” Felix says, looking downcast. He’s made good use of those sad eyes since he was much younger, and Dorian is not about to let him get away with it now. He points a finger at Felix. 

“Oh, no you don’t. If I’m not allowed to fuss over you, you’re not allowed to get maudlin over me.” 

Felix’s lips twitch. “All right, that’s fair.” 

_Happiness_ , after all, is a nigh-unobtainable state. All too obviously, the world does not always give one what one wants. Wanting to have _everything_ that one wants is sheer greed, and that’s the sort of thinking that leads to all of the Imperium’s outlandish overreaches in the past. Also to folly like Alexius’s, and perhaps even to the Blight, if the Chantry tales can be believed. 

No, best simply to enjoy what one has and not hope for more: intellectual stimulation, one true friend, and let’s not forget skill and wit and looks, of course. There are far worse things. 

“Don’t get in too much trouble without me,” Dorian says. 

Felix laughs. “I could say the same to you.” 

“Tampering with magic no one understands, here in the frozen south, how much trouble could I possibly get into?” Dorian says. “The Magisterium, now, that’s a pit of snakes.” 

“But a pit of snakes I know, at least,” Felix says, but he’s still smiling. “Seriously, Dorian, take care of yourself.” 

“I always do,” Dorian says, only a partial lie. Felix snorts in answer and pulls Dorian into a surprisingly strong embrace. His breath might catch a little as he does. Dorian isn’t about to stand for that, either. They both know this may be the last time they’ll see each other, but if this evening degenerates into tears, then Felix will have to go over all nobly stoic again, and that’s no good at all. So he says as cheerfully as he can muster, “I’ll thank you to send some of the reds from your cellar, though. The swill they drink down here is truly abominable.” 

Felix laughs a wet-sounding laugh, but at least he’s smiling when he pulls away. “I’ll see to it as soon as I can.” 

“Splendid,” Dorian says, meaning it. They talk of simpler, lighter things for the rest of the evening, which is how Dorian wanted it: one last evening of fellowship before Felix returns to Minrathous and Dorian turns toward the unknown that is the Inquisition.


End file.
